Time and Again
by Rogue28
Summary: How do you live after you've saved the world? Trip and T'Pol, after season three. A House of Tucker Season 3.5 Challenge fic.
1. Prologue

**Title**: Time and Again  
**Author**: Rogue  
**Category**: Plot Summary #5, Trip/T'Pol Summer Challenge  
**Rating**: PG  
**Disclaimer**:  Paramount owns all, lucky people.  If I could make money doing this, I would be, but I'm not.  sighs  
**Spoilers**: Through Season 3.  Since I've actually now seen seasons 1 and 2!  
**Summary**:  After the Alien-Nazi timeline is reset (because the concept boggles my mind), Trip and T'Pol learn how to live in a post-Xindi, post-Temporal Cold War era.

**Prologue**

**---**

"Go!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.  "Get out, we're running out of time!"

The engineering crew raced out, and he counted heads as he shut the door behind them.  The ship trembled as particle weapon blasts from their overly armed adversary plastered the hull.  "Go for it, Malcolm!"

Archer nearly stumbled as another laser blast came too close to hitting the bridge, nearly blocking out Tucker's declaration of readiness.  "We're only going to get one chance at this."

T'Pol didn't look up from her station.  "Ensign, pull us alongside their bridge.  Lieutenant, keep firing.  Their hull plating is nearly compromised."

"Aye," the Briton acknowledged as the ship shuddered again.

"We're in position, but we're not going to stay here long," Travis shouted over the screeching of EPS conduits fusing. 

Archer sunk down into his chair, pressing the comm button.  "All hands, brace yourselves!"

T'Pol placed her hands on her console, still not looking up from her display.  "Now!"  Malcolm pressed the button on his console. 

The starboard nacelle exploded.

The power went out, the bridge as dark as it had been during the outage of their maiden voyage, and thuds sounded across the bridge as crewman went flying.

The backup power generators whined into action, and the faint light illuminated Archer's blood-stained face and clothing as he turned towards his science officer.  "T'Pol—where are we?"

She leaned over her controls.  "We appear to be one hundred thousand kilometers beyond the ninth planet in the Sol system."

Archer rose, hand pressed to his ribcage, to look over Travis' display, the main viewer blank.  "But when?"

"Checking star positions," T'Pol said.  "According to our readings, the date is February 18th," she said.  "2154."

The bridge was quiet with the memory of too many false hopes dashed, and Archer turned to the communications console.  "Hoshi?"

She grinned.  "Starfleet Command sends their compliments and welcome home."

The bridge broke out into cheers, and the weary captain sunk down into his chair.  "Sir?"  Hoshi said over the congratulations and back-slapping.  "Admiral Forrest wants to know where the hell our starboard nacelle is."

---

The _Colombia_ towed _Enterprise_ back into space dock with a skeleton crew made up of Starfleet admirals and captains.  Trip had adamantly refused to restart the engines after the starboard nacelle had disappeared, and in doing so, had found himself here, in the mess hall of the _Colombia_, looking out at his ship.  "Oh, my God.  You have any idea how long it's going to take me to fix that ship?"

Malcolm clinked his glass of Scotch against Trip's own.  "The happiest eight month refit of your life?"

"More than that, probably," Trip replied mournfully.  "The Starfleet Corps of Engineers wants to put a whole slew of experimental systems into the ship and bypass all the stuff I just got fixed from where they screwed it up last time they refitted the ship."

"And?" T'Pol prompted from her position on his other side.

"Over my dead body," he swore.  "No experimental systems replacing my stuff."

"Most of the systems on _Enterprise_ were experimental when the ship was launched," she reminded him.

"Well," he said, unable to refute her logic.  "It's my ship and the Corps of Engineers can bloody well stay out of it."

"My God," Malcolm breathed, ignoring the latter half of Trip's rant as a blue ball came into view.  "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's all in one piece," Trip said, his gaze transfixed on the planet below, all thoughts of the Corps of Engineers driven out by the sight of their home.

T'Pol turned him away before the scorched mark still running through Florida could come into view.  "Your families will be waiting for you when we land."

Malcolm clapped a hand on Trip's shoulder.  "We're home."

---


	2. Chapter 1

**Title**: Time and Again  
**Author**: Rogue  
**Category**: Plot Summary #5, Trip/T'Pol Summer Challenge  
**Rating**: PG  
**Genre**: Romance  
**Disclaimer**:  Paramount owns all, lucky people.  If I could make money doing this, I would be, but I'm not.  sighs  
**Spoilers**: Through Season 3.  Since I've actually now seen seasons 1 and 2!  
**Summary**:  After the Alien-Nazi timeline is reset (because the concept boggles my mind), Trip and T'Pol learn how to live in a post-Xindi, post-Temporal Cold War era.  
  
****

**Chapter 1**:

"I hate dress uniforms," Trip muttered, tugging at his collar.

"I do not understand how humans can apply what I believe is considered one of the more negative emotions to an inanimate object," T'Pol observed.

"Words like love and hate only carry their true meaning when directed at a person," Trip answered with a smile, sidestepping the Tellarite ambassador.  "Or warp drives."

"Then by my understanding, you carry conflicting emotions towards the warp engines of _Enterprise_," she said, carefully ignoring the not of Soval's head that constituted a beckons towards him.

"Hey, I'm going to go get some punch.  You want anything?" he asked.

"Punch would be acceptable.  Thank you, Commander."

He nodded, disappearing into the throngs of people crowding the reception hall in search of the buffet table, and T'Pol watched Soval wind his way through the crowd toward her now that Commander Tucker was no longer occupying her attention.

"T'Pol," Soval addressed her, his voice barely betraying his displeasure.

"Ambassador," she said, her tone level as she watched for her companion to reappear and customarily offend the Vulcan ambassador.

"I attempted to gain your attention to no avail, T'Pol.  You should not allow yourself to become so focused on one thing to the abandon of all else around you."

"Perhaps I simply did not wish to answer your summons, Ambassador," she said coolly.

"That is—" the ambassador stopped himself.  "That is unwise, considering your current state."

She turned to face the taller man, no longer keeping in mind the social obligations that required she show him respect.  "Ambassador, please ay what you mean.  What about my current state?"

"The Vulcan High Command is concerned about your emotional state, and considering our conversation, I'm inclined to agree with them," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"I resigned my commission with the High Command," she reminded him, noting Commander Tucker carefully weaving his way through the crowd, a glass of punch in each hand.  "I fail to see how my emotional state is any of their concern."

Soval stiffened, either at her comment or Trip's appearance.  The commander offered the ambassador a smile that was barely a shade off sincere as he handed her the glass in his left hand.  "Here you go, T'Pol.  Ambassador."

Soval barely acknowledged his greeting.  "I will expect to see you at the consulate tonight.  Your former quarters have been reassigned to you for the duration of your stay on earth.  Your debriefing will begin tomorrow morning."

He swept off before T'Pol could protest, and Trip sighed.  "Wonder who stuck the stick up his ass."

T'Pol shot him a reproachful look, one eyebrow arching.  "I believe the disrespect I showed him many have had something to do with his—irritation."

"I thought Vulcans didn't get irritated," Trip said, close to her ear.

"I believe the ambassador may be an exception," she said.  "And you, Commander, could irritate anyone."

She began moving through the crowed and Trip caught up behind her.  "Hey, I resent that remark."

"I'm sure whatever she said about you was completely true, Commander Charles Tucker III," a familiar voice said behind him.

T'Pol stepped out of his way to avoid being knocked over by the violence of his turn.  "Mom!"  She watched as the chief engineer wrapped his arms around a woman who closely resembled him, then allowed her companion to hug him as well.  "Dad!  I didn't think you were going to be here."

His mother smiled.  "It took four calls to Starfleet Command and a full-fledged Joyce Tucker hissy fit, but we managed to catch the last shuttle from Tallahassee.  You didn't think we were going to miss you coming home, did you?"

He laughed, the kind of laugh T'Pol hadn't heard him laugh in a long time.  "Oh, T'Pol, this is my mother, Joyce, and my dad, Charlie.  Mom, Dad, this is my friend, T'Pol of Vulcan."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, T'Pol of Vulcan," his father said, and Trip was gratified that his father remembered not to stick out his hand.

"We've heard so much about you," Joyce said.  "Thank you for all you've done for Trip.  For all of us."

T'Pol watched Trip squeeze his mother's shoulder in support.  "It was an honor to serve with the commander, Mrs. Tucker, if at times somewhat trying."

"Now, just a minute," Trip said, pointing a finger at T'Pol.  "I see to remember a few times—"

"Trip Tucker, I swear to goodness," his mother said, grasping his hand.  "Will you never learn any manners?  I'd have thought this young woman here would have knocked some sense into your head by now."

"I believe that is what humans refer to as a 'lost cause,'" T'Pol remarked, rewarded by a forgiving smile from Trip.

"Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet the only Vulcan in this room with a sense of humor."

"I believe that may have to wait," T'Pol said.  "Admiral Forrest has been attempting to get your attention, Commander, for the last 2.3 minutes."

"Aw, hell," Trip said, ducking his mother's glare at his use of language.  "You were avoiding Soval like the plague.  I can't do the same"

"Unlike Soval, Admiral Forrest is your superior officer," she pointed out.  "It's unlikely to take long.  I will remain her and speak with your parents.  Perhaps your mother will teach me techniques for 'knocking some sense into your head.'"

Charlie Tucker let out a loud laugh at T'Pol's comment, and Joyce Tucker couldn't help but smile.  "We'll be right here, Trip."

He backed away, unwilling to let them out of his sight longer than necessary, and Joyce Tucker turned her Southern smile on T'Pol.  "I hope my son's been behaving himself."

"The commander has been extremely diligent in his duties and helpful to me in any task in which I required assistance," T'Pol answered.  "Our professional relationship has been most gratifying."

"I'm glad to hear that," Joyce said.  "What do you suppose Admiral Forrest wanted that was so important?"

"Joyce, Starfleet moves in mysterious ways," Charles Tucker said.  "And whatever it is, I doubt Admiral Forrest will keep him long enough to risk your temper again."

"Ah, Commander Tucker," Admiral Forrest said as Trip made his way toward him.  "This is Commissioner Brenda Maupin.  She's been the head of the war memorial project in Orlando."

Trip felt his spine stiffen, despite his attempt to remain relaxed.  "Commissioner, pleased to meet you."

"Commander, we're dedicated the memorial tomorrow afternoon.  Due to the great amount of people who wish to attend, it's not an open ceremony.  We're only allowing dignitaries and special guests to be present on site during the dedication and I wanted to personally extend the invitation to you to be there."

He stammered for a moment.  "I'm—I'm honored, Commissioner."

"Even though part of the memorial is for the lost crew of _Enterprise_, I'm afraid Captain Archer is going to have other duties to attend to, such as recovering from his injuries at Starfleet Medical," Admiral Forrest said.  "Even though this is the formal dedication, there'll be another ceremony for the _Enterprise_ crew if you would rather wait."

"Thank you, sir," Trip said, gratefully acknowledging the admiral's gracious attempt to let him off the hook.  "But Lizzie wasn't on _Enterprise_.  She was here.  I'll be there, Commissioner."

"Commander, the offer applies to your parents as well.  You all are free to share my shuttle with me back to Florida in the morning," the commissioner said.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said.  "I'll be sure to let my parents know."  He glanced back at the admiral.  "If you'll excuse me, they're waiting for me."

"Of course, Commander," the admiral said.  "I have no wish to have your mother angry with me again.  I doubt a Klingon could faze that woman."

T'Pol looked up from her conversation when she heard Commander Tucker's voice greeting people as he approached them, sitting at one of the many tables that lined the walls of the room.  "My ears are burning," he said.  "Talking about me?"

"We were conjecturing about Admiral Forrest's reasons for calling you over," T'Pol explained.

"I said he was promoting you to captain and giving you command of the NX-02," Joyce said.

"Hardly," Trip said, forcing a grin as he sat down next to T'Pol.  "Engineer, remember?  Besides, I'd have to have T'Pol along to keep me out of trouble, and I doubt you'd leave _Enterprise_.  And I've put far too much time in on _Enterprise_'s engines to quit now."

"Then you've been demoted for conduct unbecoming an officer," his father joked. 

"I regret to inform you both that my rank is remaining firmly intact, although Malcolm, Hoshi and Travis are all getting beaten with the promotion stick," he said.

"Then as our conjectures were incorrect, perhaps you would enlighten us?" T'Pol said.

He sighed.  "They want me to go to the war memorial dedication tomorrow in Orlando," Trip said, looking up at his parents.  "You've been invited too."

His parents exchanged glances, and Trip could see the denial in his mother's eyes, the same denial he'd harbored for months.  "We'll discuss it in the morning," Joyce said.  "Now, I heard Jonathan was at Starfleet Medical?"

"Yeah," Trip said.  "He got more than a little beat up.  That was before I blew a warp nacelle and dosed everyone with a good amount of theta radiation.  Oh, by the way, T'Pol, I take it back about you being the only Vulcan here with a sense of humor.  Ambassador V'Lar is here, and she said to tell you that she would be at your debriefing tomorrow, in case she didn't get a chance to speak to you tonight.  Ought to make things easier with Soval."

"Ambassador V'Lar is known for her ability to diffuse difficult situations," T'Pol said, recognizing that the mention of the ambassador in changing the subject diffusing this particular situation.  "But we should not let tomorrow disrupt our enjoyment of this evening."

"T'Pol of Vulcan," Trip's father proclaimed as the Starfleet Honor Band struck up a lively tune.  "You are very wise."  He held out a hand to his wife.  "Care to dance?"

Joyce rose happily and Trip grinned as his father swept his mother out onto the dance floor. 

"I believe I should apologize for drawing your parent's attention away," T'Pol said quietly.

"Not at all," Trip said.  "Besides, I'm going to have most of tomorrow with them.  And I don't think they're ready to talk about what happened out in the Expanse yet anyway."

"Perhaps not," she agreed, letting her gaze follow the swirling couples.

She felt his eyes on her.  "Want to dance?"

"Vulcans do not dance," she reminded him coolly. 

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but it looks to me like Ambassador V'Lar and Admiral Forrest are having a good time over there," he said, clearly enjoying her discomfiture watching the admiral swing the Vulcan woman around the dance floor.  "Sure you don't want to dance?  Stick it to Soval, maybe?"

He could have sworn he saw a mischievous look in her eyes, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure.  "Very well, Commander," she conceded.  "One dance."

He smiled, taking her hand, and they joined the dancers rotating around the floor.


	3. Chapter 2

**Title**: Time and Again  
**Author**: Rogue  
**Category**: Plot Summary #5, Trip/T'Pol Summer Challenge  
**Rating**: PG  
**Genre**: Romance  
**Disclaimer**: Paramount owns all, lucky people. If I could make money doing this, I would be, but I'm not. sighs  
**Spoilers**: Through Season 3. Since I've actually now seen seasons 1 and 2!  
**Summary**: After the Alien-Nazi timeline is reset (because the concept boggles my mind), Trip and T'Pol learn how to live in a post-Xindi, post-Temporal Cold War era.  
****

**Chapter 2**

****

Trip barely managed to pull himself out of the bed in time to shower and find his other clean dress uniform in time for the shuttle to Tallahassee. Light streamed in from the streetlights illuminating the dark streets through the open windows in the living area of his San Francisco apartment, and he quickly stuffed a change of clothing and his shaving kit into a duffel bag. He rummaged around in the kitchen, finding a Starfleet ration pack stolen in his academy days stowed away in one of the cabinets. He ripped the meal bar from its package, and took a bite of the overly chewy substance as he hurried out the door.

Five o'clock in the morning looked a lot more pleasant when the sun was shining, and Trip was glad he'd remembered to grab his jacket on his way out the door as the nip of the cold air outside met his skin.

The transit station was only a few minutes from his apartment by the mag train, and he stepped aboard, pressing his Starfleet identification into the reader to allow him access without having to rummage around in his pocket for the correct change, and the train whooshed through the quiet streets of San Francisco, and Trip breathed in the quiet and peacefulness that was the city at rest.

His parents were waiting for him at the transit station, and Trip grinned at seeing them, despite his mere three hours of sleep after the reception. "Morning."

"Good morning," his father said, attempting to stifle a yawn as Commissioner Maupin appeared, looking possibly sleepier than his father did, beckoning for them to follow her.

The shuttle used to ferry the commissioner was about the size of the ones _Enterprise_ used, and Trip glanced up at the sky in spite of himself, even though it was impossible to see the spacedock floating in orbit. He tossed his bag into the storage area, helping his mother into the shuttle as she yawned. "You okay, Mom?"

"Just tired," she said, allowing another yawn to escape her. "I don't know how you manage to look so chipper this morning with as little sleep as you've had."

"I've made do with worse," he said, strapping himself in. "Don't worry. One of these days, we're going to be transporting across continents."

"I'm not getting in one of those things, ever," his mother said with more vehemence than she should have been able to muster considering her current state of consciousness. "Dispersing my molecules over the continent."

"They're not as bad as you think," Trip said as the shuttle lifted off and accelerated into the sky. "You hardly know anything's happened."

"You've been in one of those things? I thought you swore you weren't getting in them ever again," she said, looking rather distressed at the thought.

He shrugged, leaning his head back against the headrest. "Sometimes you don't have much of a choice. We had a bunch of Xindi hatchlings that reverse imprinted on the captain. It was the doc's medical opinion that something was wrong, so we mutinied, I transported down to the hatchery and stunned him, and then transported back up."

"I don't need to hear this," Joyce Tucker murmured, leaning back and closing her eyes. "I need some more sleep."

Trip grinned as his father laughed silently, and settled back for the trip.

By shuttlepod, Tallahassee was a little under an hour and a half away from San Francisco. Morning was breaking over the ocean as the shuttlepod touched down at the Tallahassee Transit Station, and Trip glanced at his parents. "You sure you're not coming?"

His mother nodded. "There are other parents out there who aren't getting to be present. I don't think I should be either. I'll see you when you get home."

She scrambled out of the shuttlepod before Trip could say anything else, and he looked up at his father, hoping for an explanation. "She's not ready, son," Charlie Tucker's voice rumbled down deep in his throat. "I don't know that she'll ever be ready. Going to the memorial will mean once and for all that Lizzie is gone, and I don't think your mother can face that. Especially when she's so happy you're home now."

Trip nodded. "I understand. I'll be home after while."

"Come hungry," Charlie said, looking relieved at an opportunity to change the subject. "I have a feeling your mother is going to go home and start cooking. There's a bushel of peaches in stasis at the house, and the minute you came home, she went out and bought pecans."

"Sounds good," Trip said, handing his father his overnight bag. "See you in a few hours."

If Tallahassee was an hour and a half from San Francisco, Orlando was barely ten minutes beyond Tallahassee, including the takeoff, circling the busy transit station six times, and landing.

"Damn, it's good to be home," Trip said, stepping out of the shuttlecraft. The air in Florida was cleaner, sweeter, than the air any place on Earth or the dozens of alien worlds he'd set down on during his time on _Enterprise_.

"Commander," the commissioner beckoned towards him. "We only have about an hour until the ceremony begins. This way, please."

His feelings of good joy vanished as he entered the skimmer that would take them to the memorial site in Orlando. The skimmer pulled out of normal traffic, carrying them along a side road that ran along the deep scorched mark in the earth that signified the tragedy that had taken place here. He should have looked away, but his eyes traced the lines of the trench anyway, and he found himself transfixed by the memories of homes and people that had been in the way of the weapon blast. The Xindi could try all they might to make amends for what they had done, but it was small consolation to those that were left behind and traveling alongside the scar through the city of Orlando.

"Here we are," the commissioner said, and Trip looked up, astounded, to find the woman barely affected by the sight that had rapidly passing along the window. "The memorial is ahead."

The memorial was constructed of black stone, the same kind that stood in Washington commemorating the fallen of the Vietnam War and the Eugenics Wars, but instead of the gash through the hill, like the Vietnam monument, the memorial sat upon level ground. Two meters high, it was a wall of solid stone, bent in the shape of a circle nearly five kilometers in circumference, the space cleared from a public park and a portion of the trench that had been filled in by workers trying to repair some of the damage caused to the landscape. The circle was broken in one spot, perhaps six meters wide, to allow visitors access to the interior, where a cylindrical stone stood offset from the entrance, the image of _Enterprise_ etched into the top, and the names of the Starfleet crewmen and the MACOs lost in the battle neatly engraved into the stone.

It was all he could do to keep from becoming sick, and Trip wondered if perhaps his mother had not had the right idea after all.

Maupin seemed to notice his green tint at that moment, because she stopped her conversation with her aide. "Commander? Are you all right?"

He snapped out of his reverie. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. The memorial—it's—it's impressive."

The commissioner smiled. "I'm glad you think so. It's been a difficult road trying to get this built. There was a considerable amount of trouble getting funding. Some people thought it was unwise to go ahead and build the memorial when it was possible that Earth could be destroyed soon after, but those of us who chose to look on the bright side instead decided otherwise. It was actually finished this week when the last of the _Enterprise_ names were added to the middle."

He nodded, unable to say anything as the commissioner turned back to her work, directing placement on the temporary dais that had been constructed in front of the memorial for the occasion. "Commander!" a voice said behind him, and he recognized the aide Maupin had been conversing with moments earlier. The girl couldn't have been much older than eighteen, and she handed him a sheet of paper and what he thought was a small rock. "I thought you might like to have this."

The paper showed a diagram of the memorial, and a section on the inside was marked, the words "Tucker, Section P-8."

"We're starting in two minutes," Maupin said, and he found himself propelled up onto the dais to stand next to the commissioner, who readied herself, quickly scrolling through the speech on her datapad. He just stared at the sheet of paper in his hand.

Someone started to sing, and Maupin spoke, but he barely heard them. Something about the great tragedy, the potential that had been lost, the heritage denied to the human race now. It was nothing that had not already gone through his head.

The service was over quickly, and Trip thanked his lucky stars that he didn't have to stand there much longer. He stepped off the makeshift stage, filled with a single purpose, moving through the crowd, making perfunctory acknowledgments of greetings sent his way.

The memorial was colossal once he entered it, and he paused for a moment in front of the _Enterprise_ stone, reading names. All were familiar, but a few gave him pause. Major Gregory Hayes. Ensign Michael Kamata. Ensign Jane Taylor.

He moved on, following the directions the aide had given him. It didn't take more than five minutes to walk to the section specified on the map, given the proximity to the end of the alphabet his name had.

The stone was filled with names carved into it in sharp relief, and there it was, carved out in the exact precision as the other seven million names etched into stone was, not on the bottom, but near it, and he knelt down to see it better. He reached out a hand towards it.

Elizabeth Anne Tucker.

He finally realized that he was still holding the rock that the aide had given him, and belatedly found that it was a piece of graphite. Turning the piece of paper around, he placed it up against the memorial stone, and rubbed. Lizzie's name transferred over with the same ease as making a rubbing of a stone or a piece of wood had when he was a child and he and Lizzie had kept themselves entertained an entire summer with a collection of rubbings they had made of rocks and tables and wood and trees and leaves.

So much to say about her, but all that could be spared was enough space for three words. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

But he knew that now. He knew that there would never be a way to make it enough. And content with that knowledge, he rose, knowing his parents were waiting for him at home.


	4. Chapter 3

**Title**: Time and Again  
**Author**: Rogue  
**Category**: Plot Summary #5, Trip/T'Pol Summer Challenge  
**Rating**: PG  
**Genre**: Romance  
**Disclaimer**: Paramount owns all, lucky people. If I could make money doing this, I would be, but I'm not. sighs  
**Spoilers**: Through Season 3. Since I've actually now seen seasons 1 and 2!  
**Summary**: After the Alien-Nazi timeline is reset (because the concept boggles my mind), Trip and T'Pol learn how to live in a post-Xindi, post-Temporal Cold War era.  
****

**Chapter 3:**

Although Vulcans, as a rule, were not inclined to indulge in gossip, T'Pol doubted that the Vulcans behind her in the consulate dining hall were among those who abstained from idle chatter. She'd heard her name come up in conversation a total of twelve times, and although she was certain that at least three of those conversations were not meant for her to hear, two of them had been. Ignoring the gossip mill on _Enterprise_ was one thing. Ignoring the gossip of her own people was another.

She finally rose, discarding the little of her breakfast she had not eaten, and quickly downing the rest of her tea, she left the dining hall, avoiding the pointed glances she was receiving. She knew what they were saying, what they were thinking, and that thought was not a pleasant one.

She entered Soval's office at the requested time to find the ambassador, Ambassador V'Lar and a man in a commander's uniform. Soval rose from his desk, gesturing towards the commander. "T'Pol, I don't believe you've met Commander Sumek. He joined my staff after you chose to remain onboard _Enterprise_ in defiance of the High Command."

"Soval," V'Lar said, settling herself in a chair on T'Pol's side of Soval's desk, "It is far too early in the day to bring up such matters."

Soval inclined his head towards the woman. "As you wish, madam. You may sit, T'Pol."

T'Pol did as requested of her, crossing her legs in the defensive posture that she so often used to keep her crewmates on _Enterprise_ at bay. "This is merely an informal briefing, T'Pol," Soval continued. "This is not to judge your behavior on _Enterprise_ but to clarify certain issues in your reports to us."

It was not until early afternoon when the 'clarifications' became something more obviously antagonistic. Apart from expressing considerable doubt as to how Captain Archer had obtained information regarding the Xindi motives, Soval had accepted her answers to his questions.

Soval pressed a few buttons on his datapad. "It seems that there are a few details missing from your encounter with the other supposed _Enterprise_."

"I was not aware of any omissions in my report, however, I will do my best to answer your questions," T'Pol said. This was not entirely truthful, but she was no longer a member of the High Command, and even if her omissions were discovered by Soval, it would bear no lasting consequence.

Sumek spoke. "You claim that the other _Enterprise_ had been thrust over one hundred years into the past and the descendants of the crew were manning the ship, including your son, who was acting as captain."

"This is correct," T'Pol said, Lorian's face, a mixture of Trip's features and her own appearing before her eyes unbidden. She shoved the image back into her mind, focusing on the conversation instead.

"I find this highly unlikely," Sumek continued. "The Vulcan Science Directorate has determined that time travel is impossible."

"With all due respect to the Science Directorate, they are incorrect," T'Pol answered coolly. "There are many more phenomenon in the universe than the Science Directorate is familiar with, and simply because logic does not suffice for the understanding of time travel does not eliminate the possibility, especially in regions such as the Delphic Expanse."

"I am inclined to take your tale as a complete falsehood," Sumek said. "Your tale not only includes time travel, but Captain Lorian, who by your own admission was half-human and half-Vulcan."

"I was informed that Doctor Phlox had determined a method overcame the biological differences between humans and Vulcans to allow for a healthy child with both heritages," T'Pol said.

"And the father of Captain Lorian was none other than Commander Tucker, is this correct?" Sumek said.

"According to Dr. Phlox's findings, this is correct," T'Pol said.

"It disturbs me that you would choose, of all humans, Commander Tucker as your husband," Soval said disapprovingly. "He is possibly the most emotional human I've ever met."

"Commander Tucker and I developed a rewarding professional relationship during our time in the Expanse," T'Pol answered. "I cannot answer as to the circumstances that would have caused the development of a personal relationship in an alternate timeline."

"And in any case, that really wouldn't be any of our business, Soval. If T'Pol wished to pursue a relationship with Commander Tucker, the Vulcan High Command can hardly interfere with the actions of a private citizen—especially when that private citizen is committing no crime against the Vulcan people," V'Lar said.

"I only grow concerned when there is a possibility that T'Pol may not be acting in a logical manner because she is not capable of it. Pa'nar Syndrome has a tendency to make it's victims unable to process their thoughts and emotions logically," Soval answered, his tone giving his irritation away to the other Vulcans in the room—not that a human could have discerned the vocal quirk.

"Yet the Science Directorate refuses to release any information they might have on the treatment of Pa'nar," Ambassador V'Lar said sharply. "If you are so concerned with that, perhaps you should push them towards a creation of a cure for Pa'nar syndrome."

"Pa'nar Syndrome is not on the Science Directorate's list of priorities. The melders are a deviant part of Vulcan society, as are the V'tosh ka'tur. I have no wish for a promising young officer to fall into such company," Soval said.

"My medical status is my own concern," T'Pol interjected smoothly. "It is not your concern, nor is it the concern of the High Command. The people I consider my friends are also not your concern, whether they be Vulcans in the High Command, members of the V'tosh ka'tur or the humans on board _Enterprise_."

"As a member of Vulcan society, you should be more careful with who you choose as your friends. Befriending a mind melder has done nothing for you but get you into trouble," Soval said, rising from his chair. "All Vulcans are warned to beware of those who have the ability to meld."

"And it would be needless if the Science Directorate merely informed the people instead of trying to frighten them into submission," T'Pol answered, not moving from her position in her chair. "I have known Vulcans who were quite logical and who had the ability to mind meld."

Soval sat back down, evidently unwilling to continue the argument. "I agree with Commander Sumek, in that I doubt the validity of your report in light of the time travel considerations."

"If you read the reports of the other _Enterprise_ command staff, they will corroborate my own," T'Pol said. "Unless you choose to believe the entire crew onboard _Enterprise_ has taken part in a conspiracy to confuse the Vulcan government."

"It would be easier to believe," Soval said. "The Vulcan Science Directorate—"

"Has been wrong about many things, Soval," V'Lar interrupted. "I see no reason to believe they have also been wrong about this." She held the ambassador's gaze for a moment. "It is your inflexibility that has caused me to replace you as ambassador to Earth, Soval. Consider that when you return to Vulcan."

She rose, the harsher tone disappearing from her voice. "I don't know about you, but I believe it's time for lunch. And I'm sure you have more important work today. Perhaps we should continue this tomorrow." She glanced between Soval and T'Pol. "When cooler heads prevail. T'Pol, come and join me."

T'Pol rose, respectfully inclining her head towards Soval and Commander Sumek before following V'Lar from the room. The ambassador waited for T'Pol to catch up to her. "I was unaware Soval was being replaced."

The ambassador lifted her eyebrows. "It's not common knowledge yet, and unlikely to become so until later this month. Earth is also not likely a place the Mazarites will come looking for me, considering _Enterprise_'s interactions with them. Captain Archer's ruse was quite effective in helping me reach my destination. I was able to testify as required to the Mazarite corruption, and I feel I owe him a great deal."

"Some in the High Command do not feel that would be a encouraging qualification," T'Pol noted.

"Well, it matters little," V'Lar said as they turned into the dining hall. "Ah. The chef has prepared plomeek soup for lunch. I realize that the chef onboard _Enterprise_ was quite extraordinary, but his plomeek soup left a little to be desired."

"Chef created an adequate version of plomeek soup," T'Pol agreed, "but you are correct. I have been looking forward to more accurate representations of Vulcan food."

They retrieved their meal, and V'Lar stepped towards the door. "Come, T'Pol. What I have to say to you should not be said in a public place. We will eat in my quarters."

They settled into V'Lar's suite, and T'Pol noted the candles arranged around the room, much like those that had been placed in her temporary quarters. The candles she preferred to use were still onboard _Enterprise_, and she doubted she would be able to retrieve them any time soon.

They ate quietly, and as V'Lar sipped the last of her tea, T'Pol set her spoon down. "Was there anything in particular you wished to discuss, Ambassador?"

V'Lar studied T'Pol for a moment. "Still as blunt as ever, aren't you, T'Pol? Not that it's not an admirable quality." She sighed, setting down her mug. "T'Pol, how advanced is your Pa'nar syndrome?"

T'Pol shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "It is nearing the second stage. Dr. Phlox has fortunately been able to slow the progress, however, I sustained neurological damage while in the Expanse that has rendered his treatments less effective."

"You mean the confrontation with Rajiin," V'Lar said.

"Yes," T'Pol answered, as V'Lar rose, placing her hands behind her as she strolled to the window.

"And the Trellium D on the _Seleya_?"

"That had a temporary effect which was reversed when I returned to _Enterprise_. However the Expanse also had a negative effect upon my neurological system as well."

"Tell me more of the Trellium, T'Pol," V'Lar said, her eyes firmly focused outside the window. "I sense there is something more you are not telling me about it."

T'Pol did not move. "I have nothing other to report."

V'Lar turned. "T'Pol, you have my assurances that anything you say here will never leave this room."

"It is not a subject I care to discuss," T'Pol said, quietly. "My experience with the Trellium onboard the _Seleya_ unnerving. I struggle with those effects daily."

It was a half-truth, but V'Lar dropped the subject. "I saw Commander Tucker at the reception last night."

"He told me so," T'Pol said, rising from her own seat.

"I noticed that you and he spent quite a bit of time together," V'Lar continued, and T'Pol wondered if she had not been informed about part of her debriefing.

"If you wish to inquire about the nature of my relationship with Commander Tucker, you may do so, Ambassador," T'Pol said.

V'Lar raised an eyebrow. "You have much to learn of diplomacy, T'Pol. There are many in the consulate that would consider Commander Tucker the epitome of why humans should not be allowed to foray into space, thanks to his escapades with the Xyrillians and the incident with the cogenitor." She turned back towards her chair. "I, however, am not one of them. We knew that the humans would make mistakes when they reached out into space. I daresay that we Vulcans made mistakes in our dealings with other races—we still do."

"Commander Tucker is quite curious, even for a human," T'Pol observed.

"But I think that's a quality we Vulcans could use more of," V'Lar said. "Humans have many admirable qualities. They have learned to live with their emotions, despite the evidence that their emotion shave nearly destroyed them. They've fought three global wars, and out of the last one, they've created a stable global government and peace within a hundred years. They have cast out disease, poverty, war, intolerance. We could learn much from them. Especially about intolerance."

"'We have differences. May we, together, become greater than the sum of both of us,'" T'Pol quoted Surak. "We could learn much about tolerance."

"Yet the Vulcan Science Directorate still warns the people of Vulcan to exile those with the ability to mind meld," V'Lar said, a look T'Pol could only classify as strange passing over her face.

"The Science Directorate also has determined time travel to be impossible, a fact I know myself to be untrue," T'Pol said. "The Science Directorate is not infallible."

"This is so," V'Lar said. "But it is not that they are infallible, but they are lying."

T'Pol's head snapped up. "Vulcans do not lie."

"Incorrect. Vulcans do most certainly lie. The statement that we do not lie, is, in fact, a lie. It is a mistruth that has served us well, and I am sure, will continue to serve us well. In most cases, it is not logical to lie, yet the Science Directorate has found it to be an expedient way to achieve their end." V'Lar studied T'Pol's face for a moment before continuing. "Ever since your incident with the V'tosh ka'tur, I have debated giving you this information, but I believe it is a logical choice to do so. I will tell you that this information is classified to the highest levels of the High Command and the Science Directorate."

T'Pol found her seat again, her eyes not leaving the ambassador's face. "Please continue."

"The Science Directorate has told the Vulcan populace that mind melding is a skill that only a small percentage of our population is capable of performing. This is a lie," V'Lar said. "Every Vulcan is capable of initiating a mind meld. The Science Directorate has used misinformation to keep the Vulcan people from using mind melds, and not form a fear of Pa'nar syndrome."

"Why would the Science Directorate lie to us?" T'Pol asked, having processed this shocking information.

"Because, there are those who believe in the old ways, that shared emotions will permeate our society and destroy it, that logic will be overrun by sensation," V'Lar said. "They hold that T'Plana-Hath's affirmation of logic as the cement of our civilization will crack and crumble in the face of the intimacy of a mind meld. I do not believe this to be so. And I believe that the Science Directorate may have the key to controlling Pa'nar syndrome, and that they choose not to release the treatment, or the cure."

"Why has this not been discovered before now?" T'Pol asked.

"Because we do not question our authorities. We have no logical reason to believe that the Science Directorate would lie to us, therefore, we have not corroborated their evidence. I'm sure that if you had _Enterprise_'s doctor examine you, he would find evidence of the mind melding gene in your system, as he would every Vulcan he has ever or will ever examine," V'Lar said.

"Then why have you told me this?" T'Pol asked.

V'Lar raised her eyebrow again. "As blunt as you are, T'Pol, you have discretion when it becomes necessary. I trust you to use this information in a way you see fit. Eventually, Vulcan will have to face our intolerance and our mistakes."

"They will not believe me," T'Pol said.

"They will when you have evidence. You already have solid proof of time travel, therefore you have already discredited the Directorate in one aspect of their decrees. I expect you should be able to do this once again. And as the Directorate has insisted that it is impossible for there to be a Vulcan-human hybrid child, I believe _Enterprise_'s doctor also has evidence refuting this claim as well. You see, T'Pol, you are not without weapons." Her eyes twinkled, even as her facial muscles did not move. "Nor are you without allies."

T'Pol inclined her head at the ambassador's comment, knowing the older woman was correct. V'Lar rose from her chair once more. "Now, T'Pol, if you will excuse me, I have afternoon meetings that I must attend to. You have nothing else scheduled for today?"

"I had anticipated that my debriefing would take most of the day," T'Pol said. "I believe I shall take the afternoon to meditate."

"I am sure that you have much to consider. Most issues seem clearer in the light of deep meditation. Perhaps you will join me for an evening meal?"

"That would be welcome," T'Pol said. "Thank you, Ambassador."

T'Pol's quarters were not far from V'Lar's own, and she hurried down the hallway with a haste not known to most Vulcans, eager to leave they prying eyes that followed her as she made her way towards her sanctuary. The door of her quarters closed securely behind her, she sat down, willing her fingers to still. The information she'd just been given had the capability to irrevocably change Vulcan society. And the decision to se it had been placed in her hands.

An irrational anger rose up inside her at the inability of the Vulcan administration, people like V'Lar who refused to endanger their positions to release this kind of information, instead leaving it to the displaced, disgraced woman who spent most of her time among humans. It was likely that any claim she made would be dismissed immediately on the claim that it was being made by someone who did not know her own mind.

She crossed to her computer console, foregoing the meditation she'd promised herself for a moment. The latest news headlines form Earth and Vulcan scrolled their way across her screen, and she glanced over them with little interest, in search of any science articles she could peruse to engage her mind in activity. Meditation would only cause her to focus more sharply on the information at hand, when ignoring it was an option she preferred.

She scrolled back up to the news about the dedication of the war memorial and selected it. The story was brief, outlining the speakers, the songs that were sung, but an appended list was attached with the names of all who had died. Yet it was not the words that caught her attention, but the picture added into the file. A solitary man had knelt by the memorial, his blue uniform too familiar, his hand stretched out, touching the stone, his head hung. The caption read, "Commander Charles Tucker III, U.S.S. _Enterprise_, kneels by the memorial at the site of his sister's name."

She cleared the image from the screen, opening a comm channel to the number that Trip had given her before he'd left the reception the night before. It was several minutes before a face appeared on the screen.

"Why, T'Pol!" Charlie Tucker's face appeared on the screen. "This is a pleasant surprise. How are you?"

"I am well," T'Pol said, inclining her head towards the screen. "I trust you and Mrs. Tucker are well?"

"As good as we can be. Joyce is cooking up a storm in the kitchen. I suppose you wanted Trip?"

"If he is available. I can call back if you are in the middle of your meal," she offered, noting the furnishings of the office behind Charles Tucker, comfortable and lived in.

"Not at all. Let me go get him." He rose from his seat, and the screen was empty. His voice called out, at a volume he probably thought couldn't not be picked up by the comm. "Trip? That pretty Vulcan friend of yours is on the comm."

Her friend appeared in front of the comm within seconds. "Hey, T'Pol. Are you out of your debriefing already?"

"The ambassadors had other duties to attend to this afternoon. I am scheduled to continue tomorrow morning," she explained. She hesitated—she hadn't called to talk about herself, although the commander was the one person most likely to distract her from her current situation. "I saw your picture on the news a few minutes ago." The words would not come, the phrases either too familiar or too clinical.

It didn't matter, because he understood. "And you called to see how I was doing?" She nodded.

He glanced over his shoulder, rose, shut the door, and came back to his seat. "I'm doing fine, T'Pol. Thanks for calling."

"Your parents did not attend the memorial?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't think they've dealt with it. It's kind of disturbing, actually. I mean, I was finally able to let go, and I just don't understand how my parents haven't."

"Elizabeth was their child," T'Pol said. "The dynamic was quite different."

He sighed. "I know. But I can't wait to get out of here. I was glad to see them, but I don't think I can handle this."

"When are you returning to San Francisco?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning, early," he said, a grin spreading over his face. "Want to cancel your debriefing and hang around with me tomorrow? We can go to the museum, go to a jazz club. I can even buy you that drink I promised."

The possibility circled her head. "I believe that Ambassador Soval can wait an additional day for the rest of my report."

His grin, if possible, widened even more. "That's great. How about I meet you outside the consulate at nine?"

She nodded. "That would be acceptable."

"Good," he said, turning towards the door. "Mom's yelling for me. Take care, T'Pol. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she said, as the screen blanked out. The picture of him reappeared on the screen. "Trip."


	5. Chapter 4

**Title**: Time and Again  
**Author**: Rogue  
**Category**: Plot Summary #5, Trip/T'Pol Summer Challenge  
**Rating**: PG  
**Genre**: Romance  
**Disclaimer**: Paramount owns all, lucky people. If I could make money doing this, I would be, but I'm not. sighs  
**Spoilers**: Through Season 3. Since I've actually now seen seasons 1 and 2!  
**Summary**: After the Alien-Nazi timeline is reset (because the concept boggles my mind), Trip and T'Pol learn how to live in a post-Xindi, post-Temporal Cold War era.  
**A/N: **Many thanks to and my baby brother for all the information they provided to a girl who's never been over the Mississippi River. :)

**Chapter 4:**

****

T'Pol allowed herself the luxury of eating breakfast in her quarters the next morning, foregoing the inquisitive looks and murmurs of illogic that would follow her in the dining hall. If she was going to embark upon a day of deviant behavior, she might as well begin now.

At eight forty-five, she rose from her desk and adjusted her headband around her head to disguise her distinctly non-Terran ears before exiting her quarters.

She intended to leave the compound through the back, as a way to avoid most of the other Vulcans living at the consulate, knowing her attire would cause them to wonder about her mental faculties at the moment, and would cause them to pose questions that she would rather not answer at the moment.

There was, of course, a message currently being delivered to Ambassador Soval's office explaining that she would not be present for her debriefing, due to other obligations, and expressing her sincere apologies for inconveniencing him and Ambassador V'Lar. Her plan to avoid his wrath until the evening would have worked perfectly, had she known that the ambassadors had broken from their usual routine and were currently in route to Soval's office along the same corridors she was taking to escape them.

"T'Pol!" Soval's voice said, and there could be no mistaking the disapproval or surprise in his tone. "What are you doing?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I am leaving the compound for the day. You will find my cancellation waiting for you when you return to your office."

Soval's gaze swept over her human-style clothing with disdain. "To do what?"

"I have plans with a friend today," T'Pol said coolly. "Perhaps we can continue our debriefing tomorrow. If you will excuse me, I am late."

She moved past them, and Soval's voice rose again. "You are going out with the human commander, are you not, T'Pol? I forbid it."

V'Lar stepped in before T'Pol could answer again. "You will not forbid her to do anything, Soval. T'Pol has the right to go where she pleases. She nodded to T'Pol, who continued her way down the hallway, unimpeded by any other Vulcans.

"You should not have interfered," Soval said. "I see no other alternative but to have T'Pol examined by a mental health physician on Vulcan. She is obviously unstable."

"Hardly," V'Lar said. "T'Pol has lived among humans for over three years. It is logical to assume that she would make friends among them."

"Did you not see her clothing? T'Pol is losing herself among these humans. It is necessary for her to return to Vulcan immediately. Undergoing the Kohlinar may save her yet," Soval said, his tone determined.

V'Lar steeled her own voice to match his own. "Most certainly not. T'Pol is capable of making her own decisions and mistakes. And as much as you would like to control your goddaughter, Soval, Earth is no longer under your jurisdiction. It is under mine, and you will leave T'Pol alone."

Soval's eyes focused on her face for a moment, and he inclined his head in response before continuing on his way down the hall. V'Lar glanced behind her in the direction of T'Pol's departure, and hoped that the day would be worth it to the young woman.

Trip was waiting outside when T'Pol finally appeared outside the gates to the consulate, and his grin spread across his face. "Morning."

"Good morning," she greeted him in return, shouldering her bag. "I apologize for my lateness. I was detained."

"No problem," he said. "I hope you didn't run into any trouble."

"It was no trouble," she said as they began their walk down the sun-filled San Francisco streets.

"Nice outfit," he observed. "Where'd you get it?"

"In an effort to continue cross-cultural exchange, Ensign Sato provided me with this clothing," T'Pol explained. "In turn, I gave her a copy of _The Teachings of Surak_ in the original old Vulcan."

"I'm sure Hoshi had a ball with that," Trip said. "I wonder how long it took her to decipher it."

"The ensign was already familiar with old Vulcan," T'Pol explained. "But I believe she claimed it would give her a chance to 'brush up' on her linguistic skills."

"Like she needs the help," Trip snorted. "Oh, come on, there's the streetcar. Hurry, we can still catch it."

They hurried down the street, and managed to jump onto the streetcar before it pulled away. "Where do you want to go first?" he asked. "We can go to the museum, or we can go to the open air market in the Mission District."

"Do you not have a preference?" she asked.

His irrepressible smile twitched up in one corner. "This is your day. I invited you, that means you get to pick what we do. Besides, if I remember, you've not seen too much of San Francisco. There's all kinds of stuff to do. We can walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, rent a paddleboat, tour Alcatraz."

"Was Alcatraz not used as a prison?" T'Pol asked.

"Well, yeah," Trip answered. "But it's real interesting. There's a real good movie about Alcatraz. Had the greatest of all actors, Sean Connery. _The Rock_. We'll have to watch it next time we have Movie Night. But anyway, we can go to Golden Gate Park and walk through the conservatory, go to the aquarium."

"All of those options seem to be intriguing possibilities," T'Pol said. "Is the museum open?"

Trip checked his watch. "Probably not. Want to head for the Mission District and the shopping?"

She raised an eyebrow. "That would be acceptable."

Trip smiled. In T'Pol speak, that meant she wanted to go.

They strolled through the museum, enjoying the relative solitude a weekday tour of the San Francisco Museum of Earth Art provided them. "Isn't this incredible?" Trip said, gesturing towards the paintings in the Leonardo da Vinci room.

"Da Vinci was a genius," T'Pol said. "Had he been born in a different century, he might have developed the warp engine instead of Zephram Cochrane."

Trip nodded. "Back then, we've have been lucky to see one of these paintings or drawings in a lifetime. All these used to be spread all over the planet in different museums. World War III destroyed a lot of our museums at the same time it destroyed our cities. I don't think art critics will ever get over the damage to the Louvre in Paris. They were lucky to rescue what little they did. And it was a miracle they got the Mona Lisa out undamaged."

"Da Vinci kept extensive notes, did he not?" T'Pol asked, continuing as Trip nodded again. "It is a pity that there are not notes to be found about the Mona Lisa. The Vulcan database mentions the Mona Lisa smile as a mystery which has perplexed Terrans for centuries."

Trip pulled her into the makeshift line of people circulating through the room where the Mona Lisa was kept, and she tucked the bag of candles she'd bought at the market more securely under her arm. "That's because no one has ever been able to figure out why she was smiling. She's got a secret, and that's what makes people come back here to see her again and again. Other than maybe the Sistine Chapel and the statue of David, she's the greatest masterpiece of human art we have." He glanced sideways at her. "That's what I meant when I said old oil paintings were beautiful."

She almost opened up her mouth to contradict him, to say that he had used the word 'nice,' but chose to accept the compliment for what it was.

"You know, back about a hundred fifty years ago, there was a theory floating around Earth that da Vinci's work might have held the key to finding the Holy Grail."

"I have heard the phrase 'Holy Grail' before, but I am unfamiliar with it's etymology," T'Pol said as they stepped out of the room.

"The Holy Grail is commonly believed to be the cup of Christ," Trip said as they stepped into the next room. "There you go. _The Last Supper_. The Grail is supposed to be the cup Christ drank from at the Last Supper."

"I am familiar with many of Earth's religions," she said, studying the painting. "Was the Grail retrieved?"

Trip shook his head. "The theory was that the Grail wasn't really the cup of Christ. It was pretty much debunked, though, since the theory came from a book of fiction. One good adventure, that was, though. I remember reading it at the academy." He grinned. "I think I'll add _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_ to the movie list. It's got Sean Connery in it too."

The top of the San Francisco Grand Hotel housed a vegetarian restaurant that provided one of the best views in the city, extending out over the bay and providing a spectacular circular view that encompassed both the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge, the mid-afternoon sun glinting off the water. Trip whistled softly as he looked out the window from their table. "That's a beautiful sight. I used to dream about seeing that bridge."

T'Pol set down her fork, having finished the salad that accompanied the grilled Portobello mushroom she had ordered. "You never mentioned it."

He shook his head. "It took a long time for me to quit dreaming about Elizabeth. At least until the weapon was destroyed. After that, I just wanted to come home. After training missions, we'd shuttle back down to Starfleet Headquarters, and that bridge was the first thing we always see. It meant coming home."

"Mount Seleya has always held the same symbolism for me," T'Pol said. "Shuttles are not often permitted near the mountain, but it is high enough that it can be seen from the Science Directorate and my home."

"Have you thought about returning to Vulcan?" Trip asked. "Take some time, see your family, visit friends."

T'Pol shook her head. "I believe if I attempted to go back to Vulcan now, I might be compelled to remain there. Ambassador Soval has expressed his concern over my mental acuity."

"Because you've sent so much time around humans?"

"Among other things," T'Pol said, taking a sip of her wine. "My briefing did not proceed as well as I might have hoped."

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, shoving up the sleeves of his shirt under the warming glance of the sun outside.

"Talking about it would not solve the problem," she said. "Ambassador Soval wishes for me to leave Earth and return to Vulcan, a recommendation he will argue for even more strenuously considering my cancellation this morning," she said.

"He can't force you to do anything, though, can he?" Trip asked.

She shook her head. "While I doubt that he could bring together the resources to bring me home, he no longer has jurisdiction here. Ambassador V'Lar is replacing him as ambassador to Earth. The official announcement will be made later this week."

Trip sat back in his chair. "That's great news. I mean, I know Soval and I have had some disagreements, but Ambassador V'Lar seems like she gets humans a lot better."

"I would call that a fair assumption," T'Pol said. "Ambassador V'Lar will make an excellent ambassador to Earth. I spoke with her at length yesterday. She believes that humans will accomplish a great deal in the coming years, and does not need the guiding hand our government has insisted upon. Instead, we should become allies."

Trip blew out his breath. "Wow. That's a lot for her to take on."

"Ambassador V'Lar is quite formidable," T'Pol reminded him. "If the Mazarites were unable to intimidate her, it is unlikely that Starfleet or the Vulcan High Command could either."

"Who knows?" Trip said, leaning his elbows against the table. "Maybe humans and Vulcans will be the first two members of this Federation the captain keeps yapping about."

"If the Federation does come into being, as Daniels claims it will, perhaps the Vulcan Science Directorate will change their views on time travel," T'Pol said, glancing down at her plate.

"You sound like you don't believe that," Trip said. She didn't answer as the waiter approached.

"More wine? Or dessert, perhaps?" he asked, refilling their water glasses.

"You want some dessert? They make a mean pecan pie here," Trip said. T'Pol shook her head, and the waiter inclined his head. "We'll just take the check, please." He lowered his voice. "That's okay. Mom sent me home with a pecan pie and two jars of peach preserves. And no one can beat her pecan pie, even Chef."

"I will look forward to sampling your mother's cooking," T'Pol said, taking a last sip of her wine as Trip handed a card to the waiter, who nodded and disappeared for a moment.

The sound of children laughing wafted over them as Trip held out his hand for T'Pol to take some of the duck food he'd obtained from a standing feeder. Raising an eyebrow at the strange custom, she threw it out over the pond, observing the sudden splashing, honking and fighting as the ducks immediately appeared to inhale the food. Trip threw out his handful, and they ducks became even wilder as they fought over this fresh infusion of nourishment.

"I would think it would be difficult to regulate the eating habits of the ducks if they are fed in such a manner," T'Pol said.

Trip shrugged, heading back towards the path. "Ducks are hardy creatures. And the park rangers maintain a pretty good equilibrium around here. It's not too hard."

She rejoined him, sparing a last look for the ducks who were swimming away, no doubt in search of more bystanders willing to throw food at them. Trip spoke again. "Did you think about taking the commission with Starfleet?"

"I believe it maybe the best choice. As a Starfleet officer, I could remain on _Enterprise_ with no interference from the High Command. Many Vulcans see an unofficial tour of duty as illogical, despite their ignorance to many of the events that transpired around the Xindi attack."

He didn't say anything. "I would have thought you would be pleased. I had even been considering possibilities for you to be with me when I informed Ambassador Soval of my change of service."

He grinned at her joke, but the laugh she had expected did not come. "Are you not happy with this decision?"

"I think it's a great idea, I really do, T'Pol," he said, taking the turnoff towards the Japanese Tea Garden.

"But you are not pleased?"

"There's just-" he rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "There's a rumor going around that if you take the first officer's position on _Enterprise_, I may get transferred to the _Colombia_ as first officer. No need for two full commanders on the same ship."

"That may not happen," she said. "It will still be many months before _Enterprise_ is repaired, and they will want you to oversee the ship's refit."

"Don't I know it," Trip said mournfully, looking up at the sky, as if he could see _Enterprise_'s spacedock from here. "Rebuilding that warp nacelle is going to take forever."

"I have confidence in your abilities," she answered.

"Sure you won't mind wearing a Starfleet uniform?" he asked.

"I have worn a Starfleet uniform before, if you will remember our incident at the hatchery."

"Ah, yes," he said, his smile twitching a corner of his mouth. "And our little mutiny. That was an adventure. Hope we don't ever have to do that again."

"As do I," she said, pulling her jacket from her bag and slipping it over her shoulders. Although San Francisco was quite warm for the date, the sun was sinking beyond the horizon and there was now a nip in the air.

"I promised I'd buy you a drink tonight," he reminded her. "Want to head for the 602 club? I bet Malcolm and Travis and half the engineering crew is there. I even heard them inviting Phlox to come along."

She hesitated, considering her current state of dress. "Perhaps the 602 Club will be too crowded. However, I am familiar with a club that plays jazz music."

He held out a hand. "Lead the way."

The club was fairly full, but they wound their way around towards the back of the club to find a small table unoccupied. The waitress came to their table, took their drink orders, informed them that they would not run a tab, then hurried back, setting down a glass of wine for T'Pol and a pint of hard cider for Trip.

The musicians played, the soulful sounds of the saxophone wailing out the melody, and Trip placed his hand on the table, palm up. She barely met his eyes, laying her hand in his own, entwining their fingers.

They'd reached the club at the end of the jazz set, to T'Pol's carefully repressed disappointment, and the band quickly disassembled their gear, and another band assembled their own just as quickly. Trip glanced over at her. "You want to go somewhere else? Try to find someplace else that has jazz?"

She shook her head. "I am unfamiliar with a great deal of Earth music. Perhaps we should stay."

The band begin blasting out the tunes of the big band era, and Trip smiled. "My grandparents used to play this music all the time when I was a kid. They said the good stuff never went out of style." The tables were emptying, and couples were moving across the floor, either dancing, or leaving in favor of different music, even as more patrons came in.

"Want to dance?" Trip said, and T'Pol recognized the wickedly challenging look in his eyes.

"Vulcans do not dance," she reminded him.

His eyes floated to her headband. "Is that so? Because I thought I saw the new Vulcan ambassador dancing at a reception the other day. And the first officer of _Enterprise_ was dancing with that dashingly handsome chief engineer."

"I was not aware that the chief engineer of the _Colombia_ was present at the reception," she replied, her eyes following couples executing complicated dance steps to the music.

His mouth dropped open. "I can't believe you said that. That-"

"Apparently, you believe I am not capable of saying many things," she said.

He narrowed his eyes. "So, do I get to find out when your birthday is?"

"That is also considered intimate information," she informed him, as the couples stopped to clap for the band, who launched into another song.

"All right, that's it," he said, rising and hauling her to her feet. "You're dancing, for that comment right there."

She didn't have time to protest as he swung her out onto the dance floor. "Commander, I am not familiar with this style of dance."

"That's why I'm leading," he said, maneuvering her around, the strains of music floating around them like the wind cutting through the cables of the Golden Gate Bridge.

The wind whistled as they leaned against the railing on the bridge. "God, it's beautiful out here," Trip said, his eyes towards the sky. "Where's Vulcan from here?"

T'Pol turned, her back to the railing, her eyes searching for the constellation she had come to recognize as her mark to find her home. "Vulcan is over Orion's head. It is barely visible from here."

"I don't know how you manage to be away from home like that," Trip murmured.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow as she faced him, a bicycler speeding by them. "I have my work. I have my friends. I carry with me Surak's teachings, and that is all I need."

He nodded as the wind blew a fierce gust along the bridge. T'Pol's headband slipped, and she reached up to adjust it.

She found his hand on hers, and instead of assisting her with putting it back on, he pulled it from her head, revealing her ears. "How come you wore this today?"

"Considering my current status with the High Command, it would not be wise if they discovered I had spent most of my day in your company. Additionally, I felt we would attract much less attention if I appeared human."

He accepted her explanation. "How come you didn't want to go to the 602 Club?"

She glanced down at her outfit. "My attire is inappropriate for appearing in front of those under my command."

He examined the simple outfit. "I like it. But without the headband." He gently traced down the edge of her ear with a finger, his hand warm against her chilled skin.

"I am gratified that you approve," she said softly. "Ensign Sato will be pleased."

"How do you think Soval is going to react in the morning?" Trip asked.

She glanced up into his eyes. "However he responds—it will have been worth it."

"I'm glad to hear it," he mumbled, his lips already finding hers, her arms arranging themselves around his neck.

Another sudden gust of wind reminded them that Mother Nature did not care for public displays of affection, and Trip shivered. "Come on, let's catch a cab. It can take you back to the consulate—" he paused. "Or you can stay at my place, if you want." The last words came out very fast, and he looked at the ground when he said them. "It's clean. And there's stuff to eat, I promise. Mom made that pie, and I've got some fruit and stuff."

Her fingers found his chin, bringing his face back up. "I would be honored to see your home."

He smiled, catching her hand in his own. "Then what are we waiting for? It's freezing out here."

Fin


End file.
